Of Dreams
by The Great Hippo
Summary: A sudden rash of terrorist attacks leaves Mars in a crippled panic. Rin, a military officer for the ISSP, finds himself in a game of cat and mouse against a self-proclaimed prophet.
1. Welcome to Mars

I recommend something moody, something eloquent, something subtle for the first part. Cowboy Bebop's Knocking On Heaven's Door's soundtrack (Butterfly or Fingers) works nice, so does Memories. For the second part, I have a great deal of suggestions - definitly something more upbeat. I wrote it to Pushing the Sky from the Cowboy Bebop movie, but any Dave Matthews song might work too. I'd recommend What Would You Say, any particular jazzy rendition should do. Infact, _anything_ jazzy and saucy and upbeat works well for the second part.  
  
_"Check."_  
  
Mars' Rockefeller Square bore only a distant resemblance to it's earthbound cousin, now nothing more than a half-sunken wreckage hundreds of thousands of miles away. The wide open space had been filled with vendors and booths of all types in it's hey-day, but now was suspiciously empty in the pouring rain.   
Through the haze of falling rain, Clarissa watched the milling throngs of people go about their daily business. They resembled ghosts, gray silhouettes of men and women who followed their daily schedules like spectres who had long forgotten the reason why or what each event meant. A slumping economy and rising crime-rate had drained the city almost of all it's spirit, and taken it's toll on the police force, too. Clarissa's eyes still remained sharp as she scowered the crowds.   
Her intuition had always been a boon to her, and she had a knack for knowing things before she actually _understood_ them - When she felt a certain urge to move or do something, she often acted on the impulse and trusted in her instincts. More than once, her gun had found it's way into her hand before she had even realized she was in danger. Now, all that considerable intuition was focused on Rockefeller Square, lips pursed and eyebrows folded together, tapping the side of her cigarette pack with an even rhythm that had become an irritating habit to her partner.   
"There." She breathed excitedly, catching sight of him before anyone else in the car had. Through that window covered in rain-drops and hazed over with condensation, she saw the piece of the puzzle that was out of place. A man walked forward through the throng of people, gliding past them like oil in water, his steps even and uncommonly calm. His skin was almost bleach white and his ivory hair curled up towards his ears. The long dark coat he wore looked like a death shroud. "See him? The tall drink of water on the left. He's the guy."   
"You sure?" Frederick asked, but the older veteran detective had long ago figured out not to question his partner too much. He was all ready reaching for both the car door and his piece. Clarissa beat him to both, stepping out of the vehicle with her gun in hand.   
Something about him didn't sing right in her mind, though. The way he walked was so unnerving. She wanted to see his eyes, see if she could get a feel for what he was thinking, but he looked like he was wearing black-tinted shades. Diving into the crowd with Frederick in close pursuit, she quickly began to slither through towards her target.   
_Where did he go?_ Warning bells went off in her head, and Clarissa didn't ignore them. Shoving a dark-skinned teenager listening to headphones aside and stepping into an opening through the crowd, she twisted her head either way to try and catch sight of him again. Somewhere behind her, Frederick was calling to her to wait up, but she wasn't about to. She wasn't going to lose this guy. He was their only lead in the case they were filing, an anonymous tip having told them to be here at this time if they wanted to find the guy who had iced Craggscleft and his boys.   
_Turn left._ She did as her mind wanted, twisting and thrusting her hand out to shove a younger girl out of the way, who instantly shrieked and lashed out at Clarissa. She ignored the swing of the purse as it glanced against her shoulder, wedging herself into the streams of writhing people and wading in. She saw him now, walking calmly towards one of the side-streets out of the square, calm and dignified. _How did he get over there so fast?_ "HEY! YOU! STOP!" She hollered, pulling her gun all the way out of her coat.   
The man paused and turned with infinite patience, looking straight at her. Clarissa felt a slight icey chill run up her spine as he seemed to look right _through_ her. _Get a grip on yourself, Clarissa._ She told herself. _He's just another creep._ Something about his face just didn't feel right, though. It was blank, almost empty, as if he were only sleep-walking. Or dreaming.   
His left hand raised in the air, and she instantly brought her gun about to take aim. Was he pulling a weapon? No, it was too small. It gleamed like metal. _More like a handle... A trigger? Just a trigger?_   
Somewhere behind her, a thousand years away, she heard Frederick yelling. In front of her, watching with the calm detachment that a cat must watch a mouse with, the albino's long fingers wrapped about the trigger like an anaconda squeezing it's prey. She swore she could hear the click it made from here.   
Her ears and her eyes were overwhelmed, and for a moment she could feel everything, anything, and it was too much.   
Then she felt nothing.   
  
Three miles away, the reverbrations of the powerful explosion that obliterated 2/3rds of Rockefeller Square was barely felt beneath the humming throb of Rin's motorcycle.   
He cut a distinctively handsome (Or so he thought) figure with his parted hair snapping wildly back behind him, a wild grin on his face and wearing one of his favorite brown leather jackets. The bright red motorcycle with it's wild angled design was perhaps a bit too much, but it was all he could manage to get on such short notice.   
"Rin, you got a bead on them?" Guy's rough and low voice grated like stones in Rin's earpiece above the roar of the engine.   
"Yeah! Hold on!" Rin replied with a shout, lowering his head and twisting the handlebar. With a snarl of pistons, he rocketed forward through the slowly moving bridge traffic. "Pink convertible, four of them, look like the guys!" He yelled into the reciever, creeping up closer. A black chrysler and blue minivan barred his passage up towards the bright pink car, but he could make out the blonde hair of it's driver and his three pals that had helped him rob the Midway Bank only three hours prior. "Contact the police, we'll set up a blockade, catch them before they know what hit th-"   
Rin's words were cut off by the sudden shriek of firing engines as a dark shadow passed overhead. With a low curse he eased on the brakes, crooking his head up to catch sight of the slender length of a single-passenger space-ship shaped like an egg with two extending half-circles serving as it's rotating adjustable engines. It thundered forward with a dull bellow, and Rin could hear the bullhorn's crackling warble as the pilot's voice addressed the blonde-haired driver.   
"Vladimir Stukhov? Pull the hell over, buckaroo, and there won't be any damn trouble!" The thick accented voice and the sturdy looking gatling gun that descended out of the bottom of the egg-shaped ship's exterior instantly told Rin all he needed to know about the Pilot and his perogatives.   
"God damn it! I _**hate**_ Cowboys!" Rin growled, gunning the engine to rush forward. Vladimir twisted in his seat, eyes wide and bulging, and began to say something to his companions that was lost beneath the rumble of the surrounding vehicles going a steady 60 miles per hour. Rin didn't have to guess what the gist of it was, though - suddenly, both men in the back seat were lifting guns into the air, an old-fashioned Uzi along with a heavy-duty Desert Eagle .50 caliber. The cracks and blasts of gunfire filled the air as they let loose with a deliberate spray of lead towards the Cowboy's shuttle, faces grim and determined.   
"Rin, what the hell's going on?!" Guy spat out into Rin's ear. Rin replied hurriedly as he gunned the engine, rushing forward into the space between the mini-van and Chrysler. Both cars were wobbling now, and it was obvious their drivers were about to panic. Panicking on the bridge at 60 miles per hour with no place to pull over wasn't a good equation to work with.   
"We've got a Cowboy screwing things up, Guy! Get me some police cruisers, NOW, and get a Medi-vac ready, this is a disaster waiting to happen!" The Cowboy's shuttle wobbled this way and that as sparks flew and crashed against the soft underbelly, leaving dents and holes that billowed forth smoldering smoke. "Please oh please don't return fire..." Rin murmured to himself in prayer, just as that gatling gun began to spin and unleashed a deadly barrage straight into the traffic.   
Lead slugs burried themselves deeply into the chasis of the Chrysler, leaving gaping bulletholes as large as a man's fist. A burst of flame and smoke cracked open the hood and sent it spiraling off the front of the car as the heavy bullets obliterated the engine into sludge, igniting oil and gasoline. The long squarish car was all ready swiveling as the driver stepped on the breaks, sliding out of control and beginning to spin. Rin barely had enough time to slam on his own brakes. The front of the Chrysler swept around to the left and crashed into the Mini-van, sending it scraping against the side rail of the bridge. A small and sturdily built yellow car flew past on Rin's right, slamming into the Chrysler's back flank as it began to spin, twisting it fully around in a half-circle to face oncoming traffic and ripping the back-door off of the mini-van. Eyes narrowed and teeth grated in concentration, Rin let loose a growl as his motorcycle darted past the momentary opening created between the two cars.   
The gatling gun made a horrible sound like metal drums spinning in the air as it continued to spit out a constant barrage of bullets, pelting the surrounding road with gaping holes and wildly spraying the bridge and nearby cars with deadly lead slugs. Vladimir had kept his cool so far, but all three of his companions were now armed to the teeth and letting loose on the Cowboy's Egg-ship, firing upwards as the convertible zig-zagged to stay out of the path of the incoming bullets. Cars up ahead were rushing to get out of the way, and Rin started praying to God there wasn't a traffic jam up ahead. Once again, Rin gunned it, charging for the back of the convertible and reaching underneath his leather coat for his gun. This needed to end _now_.   
The slick-haired kid in the back seat saw Rin first - apparently he didn't appreciate being followed by a motorcycler carrying a hand-gun big enough to blow off his head. Without even blinking, he brought his uzi to bare on Rin's head, the muzzle belching forth flames and death towards him. Swerving sharply to the side and nearly slamming into the rail, Rin tilted the entire motorcycle to the left, gun pointed up to the sky and spitting out curses that would make sailors blush. The Cowboy had gotten enough of a taste for today, and the shakily flying hole-ridden shuttle was swooping off to the left, trails of smoke lazily following it. One less thing to worry about. _Now to clean **this** mess up._   
"RIN!" Guy's voice almost screamed in his ears. "THE BARRICADE'S UP! TRAFFIC'S STOPPED!"   
Rin put 2 and 2 together. He couldn't see it through the mass of cars up ahead, but any moment this sixty mile per hour chase was going to come to a very brutal end. And from what Rin knew of Vladimir, he wasn't the kind of man who was going to let himself be taken alive.   
"I hate complications." Rin responded with a murmur as his cycle snarled beneath him in agreement, charging forward like a knight on his steed. Through the haze of randomly unleashed gunfire aimed in his general direction, he began firing with his special .50 - slugs thick and powerful enough to leave holes in steel bursted from the muzzle of his piece, towards that zig-zagging convertible. He managed to squeeze off three shots before he had to swerve to the other rail, avoiding another hail of gun-fire from the uzi.   
The third one hit it's mark. The back left tire didn't just pop, it literally exploded in a spray of rubbery chunks and a burst of sparks as the wheel itself was eradicated beneath the extra-heavy metal-jacket of the fifty caliber slug. The entire car's backside tilted downwards and clashed against the ground with a metallic shriek, golden sparks leaping and dancing across the pavement as the vehicle began to lose any semblance of control. Lifting his head above the windowshield, Rin could now see the cars up ahead slowing down and stopping.   
Rin squeezed on the breaks with a squeal of tires and the scent of burnt rubber, desperately wishing he had worn a helmet. The convertible swerved to the left, swerved to the right, and swerved back again, unable to make it's decision. It finally was forced to as it snapped and crashed with a wet explosion of metal against metal, crunching heavily into the back of a rather large looking travel bus that shredded it's front into a gleaming metal pulp.   
Vladimir, the hot-headed Russian Terrorist, hadn't deigned wearing his seat-belt a priority. His head met the back-end of the travel bus at a good 30 mile per hour clip, and ended up mostly splattered on it's backside. The passenger besides him never had much of a chance either way, as the entire right side of the convertible spun out like a twirling jack-knife and crushed him and the guy in the backseat behind him with a sickening splurt and crunch of bone. Rin was twisting the entire motorcycle around to swerve to a stop, leaving a streak of rubber behind him, when the slick-haired youth stepped out of the remains of his car and brandished his uzi drunkenly, blood pouring from his temple and his left arm hanging limply.   
Rin was well aware of just what sort of danger desperate men posed. Swinging his feet off of the motorcycle, he dove for cover right before the bullets raked across it's side. Without any apparent accuracy, the stumbling Russian continued to fire blindly towards Rin as he rolled into a crouch and brought his weapon to bare.   
It was a dangerous shot to make. Under pressure, bruised, exhausted, and currently in danger of being shot, Rin was trying to hit a target 15 yards away and who had a crowd of innocent people in their vehicles behind him. He was using a gun that not only would go through his target, but would probably keep going and slam into anyone or anything that happened to be behind him.   
He didn't stop and think about it long. Lowering the length of his gun and clutching it in both hands, Rin didn't even wince as he blew off the Russian's foot.   
With a slow but contented sigh as the man fell to the ground with a yowl, Rin stood up and turned to glance back at the mile of desolation and smoldering ruin that he had left in his wake.   
"I hate Cowboys." 


	2. Reason to be Pissed

  
  
Despite the fact that he was a fresh-faced lanky disheveled man, there were very few people who would get in Rin Yun Quan's way when he was fuming. It wasn't just the stigma that having a Chinese name and heritage meant that you were some sort of martial arts ass-kicker, either - Most of the employees at the ISSP headquarters had either seen or heard of Rin's various exploits when his temper was pressed. He cut an almost comical figure as he slammed the door to the ISSP Special Terrorist Response Unit's office open. His dark brown hair was tussled and wild, and his golden brown eyes were aglow with a wild sort of rage that his calm face did well to hide. His voice was smooth and low, one of the many warning signs of what could rapidly degenerate into a severe frenzy.   
"Who was it?" Rin asked calmly, eyes darting this way and that through the small enclosed area that served as his workspace. "Who was the Cowboy?"   
"Glad to see you, too." Guy responded with a low grunt. The over-weight officer had a knack for recognizing his companion's moods, and adjusting his own mood fittingly. His mustache twitched in just the sort of way that annoyed Rin the most as he sought to direct all that anger towards himself, a target he knew Rin wouldn't unleash on. "And nice work with the survivor, too. He probably didn't need that foot."   
The mostly abandoned office was only a collection of file-cabinets and two desks, sloppy and poorly lit. Besides he and Guy, there were only three others in the room, two of which didn't even belong there. All of them stayed the hell away from Rin as he descended upon Guy like a hawk. "Who? I'm not screwing around, Guy. I want to know who the _hell_ that was and how the hell he knew where we were."   
Sighing with the classic irritability the old felt towards the young, Guy jerked his thumb back to the office behind him. "Ask Browley. He wants to talk to you, ASAP."   
Rin didn't need much more inclination then that. He marched straight into Browley's office. It was meticulously well kept with a strong inclination towards anything of historical significance - several old world guns including a classic colt .45 revolver were mounted atop of the wall, along with a model 1800s era train. Browley himself was a classic pencil-pusher, although the small balding man with glasses had more fire in him than most people were aware. He hardly even glanced up from his paper-work as Rin stepped in. "Sir."   
"Rin..." Browley focused his gaze on him, and Rin instantly saw that something was distracting him. Something bad. "Rin, have a seat, please."   
Rin hesitated. He consciously chose the harder route. "I'd rather stand, sir. Do you know who that Cowboy was? The one who-"   
Browley cut him off with words that sliced through Rin's own calm menacing tone like a sharpened knife. "Clarissa's dead, Rin."   
First there was only shock, a sense that he had heard Browley wrong. Immediately after a sense of irritability that Browley would say something like that. It was only after a few seconds that the full impact of what his commanding officer had just said hit Rin like a brick wall.   
"Wh... what?" Rin struggled for words, the facade of calmness melting beneath a look of confusion and bewilderment. "Sir? There must be some mistake. I just talked to her two hours-"   
Again, Browley cut him off. "There was an explosion, downtown, at Rockefeller Square." He carried himself with the same sort of grim dignity that a funeral mortician did, and despite Rin's fondness for the man he found himself unable to feel anything more than a throbbing hatred for the man. "It happened just a little less than an hour ago. Over eighty people died..."   
"You couldn't know so soon after an accident." Rin instantly retorted, features narrowing into strict and violent anger, anger towards Browley, anger for assuming the worst so quickly. Browley just shook his head with the calm patience and sadness of a man who had done this a hundred times before.   
"Her body was one of the first identified. One of the medics on the scene recognized her, and called me personally. Rin, I know this is hard, but-"   
This time it was Rin who cut him off. The length of his fist slammed down into the center of Browley's desk like an anvil. No longer was his rage hidden beneath a calm exterior. His face was contorted in the purest of emotions, fire burning in his blood. "Tell me what the fuck happened."   
Even Browley, for all his years of experience, felt a slight ebb of fear at Rin's sudden pure rage, but he pushed it aside as he continued to speak in that slow and paced style. "We don't know details yet. She was working on her current case, the one with the murders down at the wharf. She got an anonymous tip, and drove there herself with Frederick... Frederick's alive, but in critical care. They don't expect him to make it out the night." Browley sighed and quickly worked to take Rin's mind off of the tragedy, to try and get him to focus himself on something else. "Rin, do you know if she has any family? Anyone who needs to be contacted?"   
Rin's anger began to diffuse itself, finding nothing but sympathy surrounding him. With nothing to destroy or focus his hate upon, it quickly began to drift into fear and pain. "I..." He leaned away, taking a step back. "No, no one. Her mother died last year. What..." His frantically searching mind caught onto something to focus upon, and he dove into it with the frenzy of a pirahna. "You said an explosion. What kind of explosion?"   
Eager to help Rin think of something else, Browley reciporcated. "We don't know, but we suspect it was the act of a terrorist of some sort. We're getting details on the anonymous tip, it might have been linked. Maybe whoever iced Craggscleft's boys knew what was going down and when, and decided to take some of the heat off of themselves."   
"I want to investigate." The deliberacy and determination in Rin's voice made Browley inwardly shudder.   
"You need to take time off, Rin. Your friend just got killed. I'm not even letting you clock in for at least the rest of this week." Browley paused. "We're all here for you, Rin."   
Rin was adamant. "We all handle our grief differently, Browley. I handle mine through work. Let me investigate, or I'll use the time you give me off to investigate on my own."   
Browley frowned. He could order Rin to stay away from the investigation, even arrest him if he found him snooping about, but he knew how effective that would be in keeping Rin under cover. No, the best way to diffuse this situation was to give the kid what he wanted - and simultaneously keep him steered out of the way of the real investigation, so that raging temper of his wouldn't put a damper on their attempts to find out who the hell had been responsible. "All right, Rin. But you listen closely, and listen good." Browley leaned forward in his chair and eyed Rin with those hawk-like eyes. "You do this _my_ way. If I hear about so much as a suspect accidentally bumping his elbow against your desk, you are not only off this investigation, you'll have to find a new job. Are we clear?"   
"Crystal." Rin replied blankly, golden eyes devoid of anything that Browley could read. Somehow, he didn't think Rin got the point.   
  
Frederick hadn't just been someone Rin knew offhandedly, he had been a friend. His picture was on his apartment wall, for Godsakes, along with Clarissa and Rin from when they had gone fishing last year. Seeing him in the ICU with more wires hooked up to him than a computer, half of his face resembling something you'd see in a tissue after blowing your nose in it, wasn't easy. Rin nevertheless took it in stride.   
Frederick had all ready been interviewed by the police earlier, but he had been too exhausted to do much more than wheeze and fall asleep again under the all-embracing wonders of morphine. The doctor had been against Rin's presence in the room and eager to let Frederick get some much needed rest, but he changed his tune shortly after Rin had convinced him of the necessity of this with his fist. For all Rin knew, the doctor was now blissfully napping somewhere down the hall where Rin had stuffed him in a broom closet shortly after their very short and abrupt discussion.   
"Hey, Frederick." Rin quietly announced his presence to the wheezing lump of burned flesh which had once been one of the few people he considered a close friend. "Guess things aren't working out so well, huh?"   
Frederick's right eye, the only remaining one that looked any good, slid over towards Rin and seemed to recognize him. He blinked but made no sound, the only other noise in the room from the constant raspy breathes the nearby machines made for him. A slip of paper had been placed near his hand with a pen, where faint scribbles were collected.   
Rin crouched down besides Frederick. "Frederick." His voice was direct and stark, a level of honesty and rawness uncommon for the often calm mask Rin wore. "I need your help. I need you to tell me what you saw. What you saw before the bomb went off."   
Frederick blinked again, slowly, before his eye flittered down towards the piece of paper. His partially bandaged hand twitched as he began to write in a slow sloppy hand. ALBINO.   
Rin stared at the word for some time before he looked back to Frederick. "An albino?"   
The ICU erupted in chaos as several burly figures dressed in security uniforms slipped in, lead by an extremely irate doctor sporting a black eye. He murmured something to the two of them as they drifted into the private room behind Rin, both glowering menacingly at the slender tall man. He hardly gave them a glance. "Excuse me, sir. We're going to have to ask you to leave."   
Rin brought his hand down reassuringly, touching the back of Frederick's. "I'll find him, Tommy. Just pull through this, and let me handle the rest. You hear?"   
If Thompson Frederick understood what he was saying, he didn't look it. 


	3. Fun with Fundementalists

  
  
"Jesus, Rin." Guy's cynical face drifted into an uncommonly dark frown. "I just heard. Christ, I'm sorry, m-"   
"I know, Guy." Rin replied through the radio reciever he had pressed to his ear, his other hand on the steering wheel. "What I need right now is your help."   
"Ask the hell away, what do you need?" He was eager to offer his aid to Rin, who so rarely asked of it. After all, he owed the lanky chinaman.   
"Albinos. I need a list of all the albinos we have on file living in this city. Particularly ones with rap sheets involving explosions, arson, or anything smacking of terrorism or fanaticism. Can you get me that in five minutes?"   
"I can get you that right now." Guy responded, fingers all ready dancing across his keyboard. "There's absolutely no albinos in the city with so much as a parking ticket except three. One of them is dead, one of them is in prison, and the other is..."   
"I'm listening." Rin made a sharp left turn, blowing a red light.   
"Jeremiah Gregorian. He was arrested by the military 10 years ago, released only 6 years ago. The military records aren't available, but his fingerprints and picture is. He's a creepy looking son of a bitch. What's this about?"   
"Nothing I can explain right now. Do you have anything to give me? Last known address?"   
"I can do better than that, Rin." Guy grunted low. "The military's been keeping tabs on him. He's head of some sort of neo-religious cult, called the Sages of Time. I've heard of them once or twice, they're into some seriously weird shit, something about predestination and destiny and fortune telling, or something. He took it over only 4 years ago."   
"Got an address for me?"   
"Sure, I'm sending it over to your PDA. Hey, Rin, I wanted to tell you something weird about the case I overheard." Guy's voice dropped to a conspiratorially low level. "About the bomb that went off in Rockefeller Square. This ain't out yet, so keep your mouth shut about it."   
"I'm listening."   
"They brought in the analyzation results from the experts on where the bomb was and how it went off, and they're having a tizzy with the computer. Seems the explosion couldn't have happened the way it's saying it happened - the bomb went off under 2 feet of solid cement, as if it had been buried there. And there hasn't been any serious masonry work there for over 4 years."   
Rin turned this trinket of evidence over in his mind and decided it didn't matter one way or the other to his investigation. He dismissed it. "Thanks. I'll call you later, Guy."   
"Be careful, Rin."   
"Yeah."   
  
  
The newscaster's face was blank as she spoke, static occasionally flickering over the screen. "...suspects as of yet. The bombing has claimed 87 lives, and placed over 40 people in the hospital with severe injuries. So far a multitude of terrorist groups have stepped forward to claim responsibility for this attack, but police are dismissing the majority of the claims based on unreleased evidence. The ISSP is offering a special bounty award of over 100,000 woolongs for the capture of whomever is responsible for this terrorist attack..."   
Rin hardly heard the newscaster as he swept by the TV store, peering up towards the skyline and the brilliantly blue sky. His mind was lost, spinning out of control into the depths of his memories.   
Clarissa. Out of all the people who deserved to get blown up like that, Clarissa was the least. She had been young, irresponsible, intuitive, and somehow wildly beautiful with brilliantly blue eyes. Had Rin loved her? He wasn't sure, but knowing that her charred and burned corpse was now in a casket being lowered into the dirt didn't feel good. Infact, it hurt like fucking hell.   
_I'm doing the only thing I can, Clarissa. This is all I know how to do. I can't put flowers on your grave or sit in some corner and weep, or try to make the world a better place in your memory. All I can do is find who is responsible and blow their brains out. That's it. I'm sorry._   
It was about the same time that he heard the shots of gunfire that he saw the flashing red and blue lights in the distance.   
  
The Church of Time was a squat yellowing building wedged in between two apartments, looking unsurprisingly poor and destitute. This was more than a common scene in this part of the city - police cars surrounding the entrance, several black and whites with their guns drawn and someone on the bullhorn. The addition of a Special Forces ISSP unit in heavy armor and armed with automatics was an unexpected addition to the scene, however.   
Apparently, someone had put 2 and 2 together before Rin had. Charging towards the scene, he brushed an officer who kept the crowds back aside with a flash of his badge, leaping over a barrier and towards one of the nearby police cars. One of the windows in the building shattered as an array of gunfire bursted out, splattering across another car far off to the left. He could hear the distant cries within the building, fervent religious prayers. "God damn fanatics." He mumbled.   
Detective Jerome Charleston, a young and highly intelligent kid who rarely shaved and had too much of a love for old detective stories, noticed Rin on the sidelines and was quick to move to his side, ducking low amidst the cars. He shoved his brown fedora down atop of his head and mumbled something under his breath, wearing his traditional long brown coat and good suit underneath. "What the hell are _you_ doing here, Rin?"   
"Investigating. I take it you're after Jeremiah." Rin responded, tossing himself against the car's wheel and reaching for his holstered gun.   
"Heh. Yeah. Guess you must have followed the clues too, huh? We told them we wanted to bring Jeremiah in for questioning, and they suicide bombed the lobby. No clue how many of them are in there. No hostages, we don't think, but we need Jeremiah alive to figure out who was responsible." Jerome was about to say more, but a sudden clamor filled the front entrance.   
Running out of the bullet-ridden front doors, a white-clothed wild-eyed man of at least 30 years had what looked to be several pounds of C4 strapped to his chest and a dead-man's trigger in his right hand. Rin tried to hear what he was saying, but he only caught something about 'The Prophet'.   
Gun-fire rattled out and pelted the suicide bomber, who's body jerked and spasmed backwards like a rag-doll underneath the lead shower, eyes rolling up into his head. He released the trigger with a soft click, and suddenly the entire street was enveloped in flame and force.   
A nearby police car angled sharply upwards and tumbled down, the sound of screaming police men heard as it came crashing down atop of their heads. Rin uttered a curse, and Jerome growled. "We can't handle these sort of mad men, Rin. The ISSP isn't equipped to handle terrorists. Maybe it would've been best if we let the Cowboys get themselves killed on this one."   
"They'd screw it up. They always do." Rin replied without even hesitating, sliding up to peer over the car's hood. It was right about then that all hell broke loose.   
The front doors and most of the front wall to the building suddenly bursted open amidst a spray of masonry and dust as the headlights of an ancient armor-plated car sprung out and shined in the eyes of the police officers directly ahead. The vehicle was a derelict of the past, with a thick squarish body that had been augmented with clumsily bolted on plates of cast iron. Bullets fired at it sparked across the edges and widths of those shoddings, as the car snarled and it's engine rumbled, sweeping a tire-screeching circle around the opposing cars and running straight for the one that had been spun over end. Crashing into it (And likely ending any chances the medics had of saving the police underneath), the armor-plated tank shoved it away and passed by Rin and Jerome as it swerved down the street.   
For a single moment that seemed infinitely frozne in time, Rin's eyes locked into the passenger window. Within, he saw everything in detail - the silhouette of the driver, eyes wild and panicked, the green mint air-freshner hanging from the ceiling, and the man in the passenger seat. Stark bleach white skin adorned his face, his eyes hidden beneath black-tinted glasses, his ivory hair curling up to his ears and his visage utterly blank of anything. He seemed to be staring at Rin for that one moment in passing.   
The car roared down the street as Jerome began frantically screeching in his radio for back up and blockades. The building before them suddenly erupted in a massive explosion, bricks and stone sent spiraling into police cars, flames erupting about the surrounding area and the shock-wave sending more than a few officers and cars flying back. Jerome was tossed half-way across the street and landed with a dull ompf and roll, blinking groggily.   
Rin was running before the bomb had even gone off.   
The car was all ready outdistancing him and swerving to a sharp left out of his vision when he reached his own car. Growling in irritation, he fumbled for the keys, yanking them out of his pocket and fumbling them for the door.   
It was then he noticed something across the street from his car. Something he had seen before. Something that would even the odds.   
Grinning, Rin tossed his keys aside and ran towards the other side of the street. "Must be my lucky day." 


End file.
